LAW, ANTHROPOLOGY, and EATING BAMBOOSHOOT and DOGMEAT Dolly Kikon with Photographs by Mhademo Kikon

Conversations Dolly Kikon, ‘Seasons of Life and Seasons of Law’ (2020) 1 JLHR 129 SEASONS OF LIFE AND SEASONS OF LAW: LAW, ANTHROPOLOGY, AND EATING BAMBOOSHOOT AND DOGMEAT Dolly Kikon with photographs by Mhademo Kikon in conversation with the JLHR Editorial Team on her recent documentary Seasons of Life We imagine Seasons of Life is much more than just fermented bambooshoot. If “Life” acts as a metaphor for the centrality of this delicacy, then “Seasons” could denote its vicissitudes— the climatic, economic, and social factors affecting the production of bambooshoots. Would we be correct in surmising so? Dolly Kikon (DK): I chose to name my first film Seasons of Life due to the interconnectedness of human and plant life. It speaks of our dependence on bamboo and how it has sustained livelihoods, cuisines, and culture. Bamboo is integral to Naga village architecture. Bambooshoot is integral to traditional Naga cuisine. My documentary focuses on the lives of women who forage and ferment bambooshoot in in Nagaland. Fermented bambooshoot is a delicacy as well as an everyday staple for many communities across Northeast India. It is an integral part of the food culture there and links the region to its Southeast Asian and East Asian neighbours. In Nagaland and its neighbouring states like Manipur, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Tripura, Meghalaya, Sikkim, and Mizoram, bambooshoot is used in various forms: fresh, soaked in brine, and dried. As one of the protagonists in the documentary, Pithunglo, tells us, fermented bambooshoot is a vital spice for many indigenous communities in the Himalayan region. My documentary Seasons of Life follows Tsumungi, Pithunglo, and Yanchano, as they labour to forage and ferment tender bambooshoot, a food item cherished across several Himalayan households in South Asia.1 How did you insert yourself into the field? There is indeed a great deal to learn from your negotiations with positionality, as someone from Nagaland who now lives in the West—the Dolly Kikon is Senior Lecturer at the School of Social and Political Sciences, Melbourne University, and the author of Living with Oil and Coal: Resource Politics and Militarization in Northeast India (The University of Washington Press 2019). 1 For more details, see http://www.dollykikon.com/seasons-of-life/. 129 Seasons of Life and Seasons of Law academic elsewhere where the geography of South Asia is imagined as a political construct. Where would you like to place yourself behind the visuals of the documentary? DK: Seasons of Life is an extension on my work in Anthropology of Food, particularly fermented food. Food has always been my passion. While I conducted my ethnographic fieldwork for my doctoral work between 2009-2011 in Assam and Nagaland, I discovered food in variant ways and how they symbolized everyday human relations and evoked memories and sociality. My first attempt to make sense of food was a short essay I wrote titled “Tasty Transgressions: Food and Social Boundaries in the Foothills of Northeast India”. The hills and valleys in Northeast India are known for specific and distinct food produce which can be exhibited as an extension of its unique culture. The exchange between the hills and valleys appeals to the senses of taste, sight, and touch. In relation to the documentary Seasons of Life, I wanted to venture out and try a different medium besides text/writing. I have been drawn to various forms, and this was a chance for me to experiment with different kinds of storytelling. Anthropology is a discipline that grounds itself in fieldwork, so I draw deeply from interviews and my engagement in the field. South Asia for me is a region that I engage with. It is not an imagination because violence is not imagined, neither is inequality or caste. In terms of my positionality, I am a feminist anthropologist from the Naga community. I come from the Lotha tribe. I am a Scheduled Tribe in India, a woman of colour, and indigenous outside India. I am not recognized as an Indian in Australia by the Indian diaspora because I don’t “look” Indian. I am called a chingchong baby in India. And as I continue to wonder where this chingchong baby country is, all these experiences place me in a good place to speak about caste/race/sexism. How is ethnographic writing different from the documentary form in terms of textualizing fieldwork? Do videos reveal the presence and agencies of your subjects more unadulteratedly and directly, without the proxy of—say—the writer? As you hint while acknowledging your camera crew and post-production team, does film-making demand a greater degree of collective labour than writing? Finally, do you feel that as a writer you can stake a more legitimate and singular claim to the produced piece than as a film maker who borrows from the contribution of many specialized agents? DK: I think about forms; storytelling as a form. From there, I deal with structures, and what is distinct between writing and filming is the speed at which we are absorbing the narrative. There is something very powerful about moving images and visuals that demands a mastery over techniques which include the storyboard. I am a Naga and I come from a very strong oral tradition. Since I was a child, the world of orality, story, imagination, and memory were stitched together. I did not grow up with a book full of stories. I grew with a mind full of stories, memorizing my ancestral tales, and then working on a language through which I was able to tell those stories. Without arming myself with the wisdom of my ancestors, who left with me this strong storytelling gift, 130 Vol. 1 Jindal Law and Humanities Review 2020 I could not do what I am doing today. For example, switching from writing to documentary making, to working with artists to turn my ethnography into theatre performances.2 I am writing a book on fermentation, so look out for that! The documentary story is a chapter in the book. So there you go, your imagination of the documentary as a book is indeed a real thing. As a filmmaker, the story rests with me. I take responsibility for the script, managing the team, the budget, and many other things. I directed the shots, selected the location, and realized how much work it takes to make a film. And I am grateful for the amazing team who worked with me. Seasons of Life celebrates the diversity and flexibility of ethnographic methodologies. It has been an extension of my journey into understanding food cultures. Research work is about and should be about collaboration. Just like the documentary making process, there is an entire labour force involved in doing fieldwork and writing a book/chapter. We do work with several people to make our fieldwork possible, though some researchers hardly acknowledge them. This “local” support is often overlooked as mere “services”. Writing and getting our work published is also a collaborative work that involves publishers, reviewers, designers, printers, and many more. Research and writing have always been collaborative. Before your plunge into academia, you were a practising lawyer at the Gauhati High Court. Did your training as a lawyer help you in breaking into the Western academy or had the routineness of law numbed your anthropological instincts, that is, your “sociological imagination” to put in C. Wright Mills’ words? What can legal writing learn from anthropological writing, and is there anything that anthropology can gain from the juridical methods of collecting evidence and constructing narratives in the courtroom? DK: I stopped being a practising lawyer but I never gave up my engagement with human rights advocacy or reflecting on what constitutes justice and what constitutional rights mean to us. This is central in my first book, Living with Oil and Coal, where I engage with constitutional guarantees and also extra-constitutional relegations like the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (1958). The routineness of law is a fascinating subject, and in Anthropology it is the everydayness of these legal experiences that allow us to examine how violence and inequality become mundane and normal. My legal training allows me to be fascinated with issues of ethics, boundaries, values, and how we try to instil law and order. My training in anthropology allows me to connect with a larger world out there; from the plant world (understanding colonization through laws and regulations on plants), to the animal (prohibitions, animal rights, and conservation) and the spirit world (occult and witchcraft). These 2 To engage with my non-writing projects, check out, www.dollykikon.com/projects. 131 Seasons of Life and Seasons of Law 132 Vol. 1 Jindal Law and Humanities Review 2020 133 Seasons of Life and Seasons of Law trainings in my life have prepared me for a fun-packed career in research and engagement. Please do let me add that I graduated with History honours as an undergraduate student. So there you have it. I am armed with a historical-legal- ethnographic training which forces me to pay close attention to the world around us. For example, it is these combined trainings that allow me to write about things such as the social life of vernacular human rights culture like my essay, “Terrifying Picnics, Vernacular Human Rights, Cosmos Flowers”.3 Witnessing everyday experiences of human rights activities in Northeast India has also helped me to understand the importance of engaging with human rights and justice in militarized societies in India and beyond. Human rights are not assured only in the annals of law or the courtrooms. The prevalence of Armed Forces Special Powers Act4 for more than half a century means that what is law/justice/rights is often different for the state agencies and the community on the ground.

Load more